


One-Hundred Percent of the Shots You Don't Take

by dancinbutterfly



Category: Hockey RPF, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Bisexuality, But you have to wait for it, Canon Bisexual Character, Crush at First Sight, Feelings, First Kisses, First Meetings, I hear the Olympic Village is like 24/7 sexcapades, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Insecurity, It's like slow burn, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, M/M, Medium Burn, New York Ranger!Victor, Self Confidence Issues, Sport as Art, Still a figure skater!Yuri, Stress Relief, Team as Family, This is what I'm doing with my life instead of writing papers for my Masters degree, and that they send in condoms in bulk, but not as slow, eventually there will be sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8656906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: Victor Nikiforov has a great life. He has the best dog on earth, has an amazing career in the NHL, and is a first-stringer for Russia's 2018 Olympic team. He doesn't regret leaving figure skating for hockey, most of the time, but when he sees the Japanese underdog perform during the men's figure skating short program, he starts to wonder if maybe he's so happy with his life after all.





	1. The skating community is very fickle. And with me, they're especially fickle for whatever reason.  - Johnny Weir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhea314 (Rhea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/gifts).



> _"You miss one-hundred percent of the shots you don't take." Wayne Gretzky_
> 
> For Rhea314 - who got me into this mess. I love you for it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor runs into some ancient history before the 2018 Winter Olympics even officially begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story features cameos from various NHL players, in particular Valeri Nichushkin of the Dallas Stars, because I came from hockey RPF and I'm trash. You can pretend they are OCs if you want. They are mostly easter eggs for any hockey peeps who are reading this. I do not claim to know anything about the real lives of any NHL people. I'm just using them to bring some realism to the piece and to give me a cast of characters so I could keep all the figure skaters of YOI as figure skaters.

“I promised Mila we would go. Her little friend made it this year and I don’t want to suffer her fangirling over his practice alone. Please come with me, Vitya,” Val whines as Victor finishes texting the Kulemins about how to give Maccachin her twice daily pain medication.

Old poodles had bad joints and Manhattan was not a particularly pet-friendly city. He could afford a pet sitter but she was always happier with people she knew so he counted himself lucky that Kolya and Natasha had agreed to take her for the Olympic break. She'd be happier at their house in long island, with it's big yard and their two ridiculously cute toddlers, than cooped up in his apartment all day.

Kolya texts him a picture of his son Alexei draped across Maccachin's back, dog and boy both wearing Islanders jerseys. It makes him soft inside even as he texts _traitor. Maccachin is a Ranger forever ((((_ back.

He smiles as he tucks his phone in his pocket and looks up at his roommate who is still bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting for an answer. There’s only six years separating them but still Valeri Nichushkin seems so crushingly young. His girlfriend might be an acquaintance but Val himself isn’t really.

The kid's not a Penguin so they're not teammates back in the NHL. Sure they've played against each other in the couple of years since Val made it to the big show but with the way Seguin, Spezza, and the Benn brothers adopted once he became a Star, Victor doesn't really spend time with him even when they are in the same city. They've never been picked for the same All-Star team and the time they’ve spent training together for Team Russia and the few days they've had to move in to the Olympic Village hasn’t given Victor enough time to develop enough of a resistance to the kid’s unbridled enthusiasm to say no. 

“Fine fine. But we better have good seats.”

“Mila said she’s got some saved in the front row.” He glances at his phone and says, “Her friend’s coach, Yakov, is already there.”

And holy shit there’s a name Victor hasn’t heard in a long time. The man had practically taught Victor how to skate a thousand years ago. “Wow. Does he know I’m coming?”

“Nyet,” Val says clicking the T extra hard against his teeth and grinning like the little asshole he is. “She thought you could surprise him.”

“Your girlfriend is a menace.”

“I know,” Val agrees with a dopey grin on his face. “I love her so much.”

Victor tries not to laugh. He does but it’s useless. He lets Val lead the way back to the rink, only half pretending to protest.

Honestly, Victor might have gone to watch the men's singles competition on his own if Val hadn’t asked him. He’d been a figure skater once, long ago in a galaxy far away. True, that was before he got bored, before the constant, burning need for unpredictability shifted him from the figure skating’s artistic medium to the violent spontaneity of hockey. 

He only missed it a little, sometimes, when training gets boring and he’s hit a few too many pucks and his vision is starting to blur. He was just going to enjoy it for the entertainment it was. Really.

Of course, as soon as he and Val approached the seats Mila had saved, Yakov spots him. He watches, feeling more nervous that he has since he was drafted into the big show nearly a decade ago, as Yakov’s face turns from pink to red to a startling shade of purple.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Yakov snarls at Mila, pointing an accusing finger at Victor. “Shouldn’t he be off with the other meatheads punching people and spitting out teeth?”

“Hey!” Val protests. “Us meatheads have feelings you know.”

“Hello to you, too, Yakov. It’s been a long time. I missed you as well.

“Hush both of you,” Mila declares, reaching out to take Val’s hand. “No fighting at the Olympics." 

Val sighs and gives her a warm smile. "The Olympics don't technically start for another two days, solnishka." 

"So? This is supposed to be a time to embrace our differences for the love of sport. Behave.”

“Well these puck-suckers can embrace my foot in-“

“Plisetsky’s skating to Romeo and Juliet this year for his short program. I mean, I know this is just a practice but still. He's amazing.” Mila says, cutting him off. She tugs Val’s arm until it’d draped over her shoulder. She fits neatly against his size, slim and small where he is broad and big. Victor likes looking at them. “I can’t wait for you to see it. He’s the best young skater since you retired.”

Victor snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Oh you’ll see,” she beams. “He’s got awhile before he comes out though.”

“You already missed the first group. He’s going third of this batch,” Yakov grumbles. “Third! Yet he kicked me out an hour ago. Who competes without their coach on hand?”

“So this kid has some sense,” Victor tells Val, loud enough for Yakov to hear. It’s been nearly ten years but man, it is still a pleasure to watch him go read with anger. Some things never change. 

“First is Canada, then Thailand, Japan,” Mila says. “Leroy is an asshole. He’s got this ridiculous trampstamp of his own initials and he never leaves Yurachka alone when they’re in the same country.”

“Maybe he likes him,” Val offers. 

“Oh please, let that be true,” Mila practically coos. “The look on Yurachka’s face if he figures that out would be priceless.”

“What about the other guy?” Victor can’t help but ask. If he’s going to be here, he might was well be fully present. 

“Well,” Mila says thoughtfully, “Phichit Chulanont is amazing. He’s medaled globally at every event he’s skated in for the last three years and he got gold at his last World Juniors. Katsuki Yuri is…” She puts a fingertip to her lips. “I don’t know,” Mila admits. “I mean, he and Yurachka have the same name, which is kind of funny and this is his first Olympics too. But he didn’t make Grand Prix Final this year or last year. Yurachka told me he just barely scraped through with qualifying scores at Nebelhorn but that Japan didn’t have anyone else eligible.”

“That still makes him one of the best,” Victor feels compelled to point out because this is the Olympics after all. “Even if he didn’t make it before.”

“But not good enough,” Yakov grumbled.

A moment later, there’s a roar of applause and across the ice, Victor can see a man in a sleek costume step up to the boards. Mila reaches out and takes both his and Val’s hands in hers, squeezing way too tightly. “Oh my god, they’re starting.”

“Wow,” Val says, sounding a little stunned as Mila tells him that's Jean-Jacques Leroy from Canada. “That is a shiny shirt. And those pants. I think I can see what religion he is from all the way over here. I didn't know you guys did dress rehearsals.” 

"We don't, that's just Leroy being Leroy." Yakov grumbles, disgust clear in his voice.

It’s a good program. The music is obnoxious, too loud, too hard, but the guy is getting good height and hitting all his footwork like the pro he clearly is. 

Victor’s enjoying himself until he hears Yakov grumble, “It should be you out there, Victor. You should be backstage right now instead of cuddled up to those North American brutes. It’s a waste of divine talent. A goddamn waste.”

“I’m going to go take a walk,” Victor says, yanking his hand out of Mila’s death grip. “I’ll be back to see Plisetsky’s program.” He takes off out of the row before she, Val, or Yakov can say anything to stop him. 

He needs to get away from them, away from this, because he’s had thoughts along the same lines of what Yakov just said. Worse, sometimes he thinks he’s made a terrible decision and that all those years ago, when Yakov stood screaming at him not to go, that he was throwing his life away for because he was bored and impatient, that his coach had been right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic happened for two reasons.  
> 1)When Yurachka asked if Mila was broken up with her hockey player boyfriend I had an "oh shit" moment and realized that hockey players and figure skaters probably interact, fairly regularly, because of the whole ice skating thing. Duh, self.  
> 2)When Victor kept talking about wanting "surprises" in his career, I thought about the way that hockey players are constantly being smashed into, hit, and blindsided by the puck and other players. You can never be sure of anything when you're relying on other people and when you're facing down a group of six big dudes with sticks in their hands who have permission to throw punches. How's that for surprises, Vitya?  
> 3)Most importantly - Jeff Skinner, a forward who has a multi-million dollar contract with the Caroline Hurricanes NHL franchise, was a nationally ranked figure skater before moving to hockey and the stuff he learned there [still colors the way he skates](http://www.russianmachineneverbreaks.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/jeff-skinner-figure-skating.gif). I thought "If this dorky kid can make the transition, why not Victor Nikiforov?" Answer, no reason at all.


	2. The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not winning but taking part; the important thing in Life is not triumph, but the struggle; the essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well. - Pierre de Coubertin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor runs into a fellow Olympian in the bowels of the rink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about episode 10 huh? :D This would've been a VERY different story if I knew what I know now - one that involved them meeting at an Olympic party and having ridic drunk sex and meeting later and being all "YOU!" I may still write that. But not for this story. lol

Victor finds himself beneath the rink not ten minutes later. He doesn’t know how he got there exactly. At some point in his scramble to get away from Yakov and the decade of bullshit the man represented, autopilot just took over. The hallways of the Gangneung Ice Arena are a shinier, prettier version of every other arena he's ever been in. The Olympic ring logos and the adorable white tiger and Asian black bear Olympic and Paralympic mascots are on the walls every few feet breaking out up the white paint on the cinderblock walls.

He runs his fingertips over the tiger's smiling face as he walks past another one. It looks so determined, it's best foot literally forward in a caricature of a march. 

Victor could use a bit of that determination right now. There's nearly a full week to go before the Russian delegates gather together to prepare for the opening ceremonies. He can't let Yakov get in his head and psych him out before the games start and Team Russia even has it's first match. 

He's contemplating pulling the stencil off the wall and taking it with him to put up in his room in the Olympic Village when someone slams into his side. It's a good thing he's firmly planted or he might have gone sprawling. As it is, it's the other person who flails and lands in a heap.

Looking up at him from the floor, on his ass, is a fairly attractive east Asian man(Chinese? Japanese? Maybe Korean? Victor isn't sure. He's terrible at remembering pretty much everything, including how to judge a person's nationalities based on appearance at them so he stopped trying to assume years ago.) in a black tracksuit with short black hair, brown eyes and a round face. He's staring up Victor with his mouth hanging open like a dead fish, jaw slack and chin nearly touching his chest.

"Are you alright?" He asks in English. Most athletes at the Olympic level speak at least a little English in his experience, at least a little, or they can look it up on their phone. Not so much with Russian.

"You're Victor Nikiforov," the man on the ground says, still gawping up at him.

"I am." Victor agreed with a smile. "I guess my reputation precedes me." 

"I'm a huge fan," the man says breathlessly, peering up at him with awe. 

"Why thank you," Victor replies warmly, smiling for real this time. He could always drag up a smile for hockey. "Are you a Rangers fan or should I feel special?" He asks with a wink. "Because you know," He teases conspiratorially, "I can always pass on a message to King Henrik." He's only half joking. Everyone wanted Lundqvist, in one way or another. Everyone. Having been blessed with the experience of being on the same team with the man(and having gratefully accepted invitations to to threesomes with him and his ridiculously beautiful and generous wife on a handful of very special occasions), Victor couldn't blame them in the least.

He was glad he wasn't as famous as his goalie though. One of the things he liked being a Ranger was that as much as New York was a hockey town, it was so big and so full of other celebrities that he could choose to use his notoriety or skate through the city completely unnoticed. But when he was spotted, he tried his best to be warm to fans because he did love them. Aside from children, his favorite fans are other athletes. They understand how much work goes into being a professional. They know the sacrifices that he makes, the effort he puts in, the hours of his life he's given to his sport.

Of course he doesn't expect the man to say, "I can't believe it's really you. I- I saw you skate at the Junior Worlds. That routine, when you had the long hair, and won your last gold? It was so amazing. I studied it for months afterwards, trying to figure out that quad flip. It's still my favorite actually." 

Victor stares down at him, dumbfounded. That was more than ten years ago. He hadn't even thought about that competition in years yet this stranger remembered what he was _wearing_ that day? "Oh. Thank you. Thank you very much." After an awkward second of silence, he finally holds out a hand. "Would you like me to help you up?"

The man takes his hand and Victor pulls him to his feet. He's shorter than Victor but he's strong, not surprising considering he's here. Victor smiles. "Isn't that better?"

"Yeah. Wow. I can't believe I did that. Kind of awkward of me, huh?"

Victor waves a hand through the air dismissively. "That was a gentle bump. I take harder hits than that on a slow practice day."

At that, the man blinks at him in confusion. "I'm sorry? You get hit in...? Oh right. You play hockey. I forgot."

That brings Victor up short because how does someone who know him forget that he plays hockey? Only Malkin and Ovechkin are more famous in Russia than he is and thats only because they are older and started younger . In the NHL, he's probably in the top twenty players in the league, definitely one of the top ten forwards. His name is on the Stanley Cup for God's sake. Hockey is who he is yet this man, who remembered his free skate routine from a dozen years ago, forgot

"What's your name?" Victor asks finally. It's all he really has left in the tank. He pulls out a winning smile to go with it. "I just realized that we skipped over formal introductions. That was very rude of me."

"Oh, um," The man's face goes bright red. "I'm Katsuki Yuri, I'm with the Japanese delegation."

"Right." Mila had mentioned him, the skater who barely made it. "You've got the rink soon don't you?"

"Yes, I do," he agrees quickly. "I was actually down here trying to calm down. This is my first Olympics. It's all nerves, you know?"

The roar of a crowd and the thunder of cheering is like fuel for Victor. He feeds on it, elated and exaltant, and lets it drive him. He gets nervous, sure, but those moments of nerve always happen in game - when the puck is flying at him and he's not quite sure if he can be where he needs to in time or he's about to be hit by a D-man speeding across the ice at him with no intention of stopping until they both collide with the boards but that's not stagefright. Hell, this shouldn't even be stage fright. 

He frowns. 

"There's no one out there. This isn't the competition. There's nothing to be nervous about." He tilts his head to the side. "You've got nothing to worry about. No one is judging you, now."

"I am," Katsuki Yuri mumbles. "I've been putting out terrible performances this year."

"My friend says you're interesting," Victor says with a shrug. That's a bit of a lie but that doesn't matter now, not when huge brown eyes are staring at him hopeful and a little desperate. "Why don't you stop worrying about performing and just show me what you can do instead?"

"You'd want to see that?" He asks, sounding a little breathless. "I didn't think you liked skating anymore."

"What? I don't do it for a living so I can't enjoy watching?" He shakes his head. "No, I do. The best are here." He watches as those big eyes cast down to the floor and something reaches into his chest and yanks. Hard. "Everyone here is the best, Yuri."

Yuri looks up at him sharply. 

Oh. 

He'd been going for casual, like he'd call any of his fellow players, but he forgot that the Japanese put their surnames names first. Names are so different for everyone, not just country to country but group to group. When he was new to the states, he'd had teammates who called him Vicky until he won their silence in a drinking competition. This year he has a pair of rookies who have taken to calling him Nikiforov Minaj when they think he can't hear them. He can but, he loves that one so he pretends not to hear. 

"I'm not the best," Yuri says finally, carefully, looking sad again.

Victor hates it. He doesn't know why exactly. Maybe the sadness in his eye or the way his lower lip trembles just a little is making chest ache, or maybe it's just that he once went from the best of the best at one thing to the middle of the pack at another. He remembers how important confidence was to him back there and he can't bear to walk away from another athlete who is shaken when he can help.

"Everyone," he repeats. "It's the Olympics. Everyone here is the best. Including you."

Yuri's lips thin and he nods but it's definitely something he's doing for himself rather than in agreement that he is in fact one of the top athletes in his sport. He doesn't look any more sure when he meets Victor's eyes again. "Do you really want to watch me skate?"

Victor nods, surprised to find that to be true. He does want to see Yuri skate, and not just as a filler while waiting for Mila's little friend to take his turn. He and Yuri could've been contemporaries, if he hadn't left skating. He's curious to to know what the competition would have been. "Show me what you can do."

"Oh," Yuri says, breaking into a smile. "Okay yeah. You should watch me. Do you want to stay by the boards?"

He should probably say no. He should go back to his seat with Val and Mila and Yakov like a good little boy. 

Instead he says "Yes. I want the best view in the house."

"Okay. Come with me then." He looks sheepishly at his phone which Victor didn't even notice he was holding. "I'm already running late."

“Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: If you followed me here from another fandom you might be aware that sometimes I like to make little notes about the background information in my fic. It's a thing I do. Blame the papers they make me write in grad school. It's made it so I don't feel finished until I've explained myself. What can ya do? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> **1)** For those of you not in hockey [for the love of god don't join you'll never crawl out] the hockey players referred to are  
>   
> Henrik Lundqivst(NY Rangers),  
>   
> Alexander Ovechkin(Washington DC Capitals)  
> <  
> and Evgeni Malkin(Penguins.)  
>  **2)** Yes, people really do call Lundqivst "King Henrik", yes he really has worked as a model and was voted like...best dressed in Sweden and he's in a band and a few other things? He's fucking absurd. I bet you that whole "King JJ" thing is at least a bit based on him.  
>  **3)** Ovechkin and Malkin are, as far as I understand, ridiculously famous in Russia and have been for the last 10+ years.  
>  **4)** Pierre de Coubertin, while a sexist and a racist as was the trend in the late 1800s, was a historian and educator and if you live in the Western world, it's about 50% his fault you had to go to gym or play team sports in school. Sorry about that. He was also one of the main forces behind reviving the Olympic games. He didn't do it alone but he is the most well-known and well-quoted of all those involved in the development of the first modern Olympic Games in 1896.  
>  **5)** Soohorang the White Tiger and Bandabi the Asiatic Black Bear are the honest to god real mascots of the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympic and Paralympic games, respectively. Good luck not dying of cuteness overload.  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please consider reviewing or reblogging this story [here](http://dancinbutterfly.tumblr.com/post/153673035595/one-hundred-percent-of-the-shots-you-dont-take) at my tumblr. Feel free to come to my tumblr [dancinbutterfly](dancinbutterfly.tumblr.com) and scream at me about these ridiculous skater boys. It's not like I have a real life I should be focused on /o\


End file.
